


No-one will notice

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Laundry, Smog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 17:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: It's Thanksgiving, there's a smog. Neither agent has any clean shirts
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	No-one will notice

New York. 23 November 1966

The streetlights might as well have been switched off for all the good they did. You couldn’t see a thing. His eyes were gritty and his throat sore and scratchy from walking through it. He remembered people talking about the London smogs of the 1950s which killed so many. Thousands, they said, and he wasn’t surprised. He coughed painfully, and grimaced. It seemed that New York also had smog in certain meteorological conditions. If the villains didn’t get you, the smog would. Probably killed more people than THRUSH ever did.

He hadn’t worn it for long though normally he would propel the day’s shirt straight into the laundry basket – Waverly was quite particular. But having examined the shirt collar… it was … well, he certainly couldn’t wear it again after an hour in the smog. He hunted for a clean one, but while he’d been in Medical someone had apparently sent most of his clothes to the laundry. Nothing had been returned yet and presumably the smog would prolong the delay. He’d have to wash the shirt himself and hope it would dry overnight. Perhaps if he just did the collar then at least the shirt wouldn’t need ironing. It _was_ just the collar, he decided.

He looked for soap and thought better of a nail brush; it might not do the fabric a lot of good. It was a pity that shirts didn’t come with detachable collars like they used to in the past – smogs in the last century must have made them essential, so why weren’t they still? Modern smogs were just as dirty.

He thought of going out again to buy a new shirt but, after another glance out of the window, decided that descending into that foul air again wouldn’t be pleasant. Anyway, he told himself, it was likely that a lot of shops would have closed because of the conditions.

It occurred to him after wetting the collar and rubbing soap carefully into the greasy, sooty stains with his fingers, that the collar had almost certainly been starched. Damn. How to flatten it? The collar looked a crumpled mess despite his careful rubbing; without starch and steam pressing his scarecrow reputation might suffer even further.

He draped the shirt, collar down, to drip into the shower and started to look for something suitable to iron out the creases. He was still searching when there was a warble from his communicator.

“Kuryakin,” he said abstractedly, still rummaging in a kitchen cupboard.

“Illya, you’re home! What are you doing out of bed? I thought you’d still be in Medical but when I got back they told me you’d left.”

“I woke up. I’m fine,” he said and coughed.

“You don’t sound it. You didn’t go on foot through all this smog?”

“The cab driver couldn’t see, so I had to get out and walk. Can I borrow a shirt for tomorrow?”

“Don’t tell me _you_ haven’t got a clean shirt either?”

“You mean, you don’t have a spare?” Illya was incredulous.

“Correct. I’m just back and found everything’s gone to the laundry so I’ve had to wash the one I was wearing today.”

Illya was about to say ‘Me too’, but Napoleon’s anxiety overrode all interruptions. “You don’t have an iron, do you? I’m trying to find something to press it with.”

Napoleon heard mocking laughter and a muffled comment about glamour boys at the other end. “Why do _you_ want a shirt, anyway?” he said. “You can wear one of your turtlenecks, can’t you?”

“No, they’re worse – and mostly torn,” said Illya mournfully. “I’ve had to throw some out.”

“Well, you’ll have to wash _yours_ – then at least we’ll be equal tomorrow.”

“I washed the collar. It just looks grey now – and creased.”

“I thought your landlady looked after you.”

“When I really need it, sometimes – but she’s away visiting a new grandchild. What about your landlady?”

“Mine’s a man.”

“Not much use, then.” Illya was silent for a few moments then he said, “We need some sky-blue thinking… or do I mean blue-sky...?”

“What’s that?” said Napoleon.

“I heard it in that THRUSH facility the other day. Believe it or not, there was a Time-and-Motion man in, with a clipboard, observing their activities. He watched them trying a variety of techniques for obtaining information from me, timed them and decided it was all a waste of time and money, so they had to stop.”

“And they _did _stop?”

“Yes. Then he told them they needed to do some sky-blue – or blue-sky – thinking. It must mean ‘be creative’. He looked very smug about it – as if he had invented the phrase. It’s the kind of shorthand that would appeal to limited intellects.”

“And were they creative?”

“Yes, but not productive. The Time-and-Motion man wasn’t pleased. So, do some thinking! You’re the expert on clothes.”

Napoleon thought for a moment. “We’ll have to go in casual, that’s all.”

“What are _you_ going to wear? I have nothing left.”

“You’ve got a sweater, haven’t you?”

“Not even that. Everything that wasn’t lost during the mission is at the laundry – all filthy. Except this shirt and my suit. I suppose if I’m careful, no-one will see the pants are torn.”

Napoleon sighed. Illya had never been persuaded to acquire more than a bare minimum of clothing. “If you keep your raincoat on, no-one will notice.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Napoleon. I can’t walk around headquarters in a raincoat all day.”

“No-one expects sartorial splendour from you, Illya… Hey! I’ve had a thought.”

“At last.”

“Have you still got those PJs – the sky-blue ones? You could wear the shirt.”

“And you could wear yours, Napoleon. I’d like to see Waverly’s face when we both arrive in soft collars.”

“Ah….”

==================== 

**Author's Note:**

> LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: propel, glamour, sky blue
> 
> There was a major air pollution episode in New York that lasted several days over Thanksgiving in November 1966. Some 200 people died.


End file.
